Title Under Constructions
by HottiesGirl
Summary: Based off movie "Cool Hand Luke", but it stands on its own even if you haven't seen the film. Romance, with lots of sub plots.
1. What are you Looking at?

~ Here's chapter one! I think this story is going to turn out pretty well, but one thing is that you'll have to make allowances for the fact that Katie is a woman helping run a chain gang. I know that was improbable/impossible, but it's a creative allowance to make the story work. I am going to finish this, never fear! Couple of things you need to know -- "bosses" were the people like Katie -- the sub-people who run things. The main person in charge was the chief. If you are confused about anything, let me know, and I'll revise. This is based off an old Paul Newman movie called "Cool Hand Luke" - it's really good, Paul is hot … Enjoy! ~   
  
"Katie, gimmi a count!" yelled one of the bosses. I opened up the chain-link door to the bunks of the prisoners and walked in. There was an immediate round of cat-calls and whistles. It was the first day any of them had seen me, and the first time any of them had seen a woman in weeks, months, years. I marched briskly down the aisle, counting in my head. I had just reached thirty-five when I felt a pinch on my rear. I spun around fast and kneed whoever it was in the balls. He doubled up and I threw a punch. He spun backwards with a shocked, "woah!" Without hesitating, I kept walking. Hearing a snicker, I looked up at thirty-seven, leaning back on his top bunk.   
"What you lookin' at?" I asked.   
"Nothing," he said, mildly, holding up his hands in a traditional sign of defeat, despite the slight smile playing on his lips. I raised my eyebrows and continued on. At the end, I yelled up,   
"Fifty!" then returned back up front. There was dead silence on my way back. At the front, I turned.   
"My name's Katie. You'll call me 'boss' like the rest of 'em. And I don't want any different treatment or respect than the rest of 'em. Understood?" I didn't wait for a response, just walked out and clanged the door shut behind me.   
  
The fellow named Luke ran the next night. Of course: the fat boss, what's-his-name was the counter. That explained it. I was impressed, though, it took them a while to find him. He ran two dogs into the ground. They made a spectacle of it when they brought him back: "You get used to the chains after a while, but you always hear them clinking." I would vouch for that. It didn't seem to both Luke, though. He had a cool look about him, like nothing ever really got to him. Considering his nickname was Cool Hand Luke …   
I watched him walk through the lunch line, grin at the boss serving, and lie down on his back, and spoon in the gruel. He was a clean-cut fellow, and it made me wonder what he was doing in a chain gang. Suddenly, he sat up.   
"Hey, boss!" The five or six of us looked over. He rolled his eyes.   
"Katie!" I walked over to him.   
"Yeah?"  
"Have a seat." I raised my eyebrows at him.   
"What do you want?"  
"I want to talk to you! Can't a guy make pleasant conversation?"   
"Chain gang members usually aren't so talkative with bosses. Leaves me a little suspicious…"   
"Be suspicious. But have a seat."  
I sat down.   
"So, what's a pretty chick like yourself doing managing a chain gang?" he asked.   
"Seemed like an interesting profession."  
"I think there's more to it than that."  
"Not really."  
He laughed. "I won't push it."  
"You know, I could ask you the same question."  
"What I'm doing here?"  
"Yeah."  
"Not sure, actually. Guess you could say the trial went the wrong way … I'm still maintaining I'm innocent."  
"Are you maintaining innocence truthfully or are you just saying that?"   
  
"Truthfully." Luke looked at her. The voice she used now was different from the one he'd heard her speak that first night. Her voice now was calm, cultured, enunciated. The voice she'd used the night before was rough and sharp-cut, with the southern undertone harshly pronounced. She was an attractive woman: he had no trouble seeing why the other inmates were drooling in their bunks.   
"What're you lookin' at?" she asked, the accent suddenly pronounced again. He repeated his gesture of the previous night. Her body, which had suddenly stiffened, went soft again.   
"So you say you're innocent. What were you supposedly 'framed' for?"  
"Killing the wife of my buddy. My buddy killed his own wife."  
"Your buddy?"  
"Was my buddy."   
"Where'd you live?"  
"Scottsburg. 'Bout three miles south of here."  
"Close, then. What was your buddy's name?"  
"Jay Harper."   
She shrugged.   
  
What the hell was I doing here? In Scottsburg, looking up a tried and proven innocent? I frowned. There was just something about Luke that made me think he was telling the truth, despite the fact that my head was telling me I was being an idiot.   
It was early Saturday morning and I was taking my day off for the week. I could use the day for more reasons than one, which was the only reason my head had let me go. I walked into a little diner. Actually, it looked like it was the only diner. A waitress came over.   
"Just a beer," I said.   
"This early in the morning?" she said, smiling.   
"Yeah, well … I got some work to do in town today."   
"'In town?' Honey, this is hardly 'in town,'" the waitress responded. "What are you after?"  
"Couple things. I gotta file a report on a story I'm doing for the NY times. And I need to look up some information."  
"'Bout what?"  
"Well … what can you tell me about a fellow named Jay Harper?"  
"Jay Harper? His wife was just killed a couple of weeks back, by a man name Luke something-or-other. The whole town knows about it! It's real sad."  
"Do you know where I can some information on it?"  
"Well, Jay works down at the hardware store. And Judge Michaels would be glad to let you have a look at the files, I'm sure. They're public property."  
"Well, thanks," I said, with a smile. "Tell you what, I'll pass on that beer. I got some people to see."  
"Hope you find what you're looking for," she said.   
"Thanks." 


	2. Wanting Answers

~ Hey all, here's ch2 reviews are nice, no flames please! Let me know what you think, how I can improve it, etc.! Wee bit of a cliff hanger, here J ~   
  
I went down to the Judge's first. I walked into his office and gave his young secretary a smile.   
"What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked.   
"Well, I need to take a look at some files for a murder that just happened her a while back."  
"Mrs. Harper's?"  
"Yeah."  
"We don't get many of those. Sorry, ma'am, but that's private information. I can't give it out to just anyone." I dug around in my bag and pulled out my reporter's badge.   
"Oh, sure--" he said, and walked in back. He returned in a few minutes with a thick wad of files.   
"Here ya go, ma'am."  
"Thanks! Can I borrow these? I'm only in town for the day, I'll get 'em back to you before five."  
"Sure," the attendant said.   
"Thanks --" I walked out and back down to the diner. The same waitress walked over.   
"I think I'll take you up on that beer, now," I said with a smile.   
"Sure," she said, and walked off.   
For the next three or four hours, I poured over the files. There was a hole in the information, but I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with it. Something just wasn't right. I groaned in frustration and took a sip of the cup of coffee that had replaced my beer.   
"Trouble?" I looked up to see an attractive man peeking down at me, giving me a flirtatious grin. I smiled up at him.   
"Just trying to figure something out," I answered and closed the file.   
"Well, let me buy you a drink, then. Maybe it'll help you think."  
"No thanks, I already had one."  
"Well, at least give me your name."  
"Katie."  
He extended a hand.   
"Katie. I'm Jay."  
"Jay … nice to meet you." So this was the guy.   
"Mind if I pull up a chair?"  
"Sure. Go ahead." He sat down.   
He chatted with me for about an hour. I wasn't really paying too much attention, but I noted that for a guy whose wife had died less that two months ago, he sure wasn't very aggrieved. He was flirting majorly. I considered the other stuff I'd been reading earlier, and suddenly, something clicked. The motive. The motive that Luke supposedly had for killing Jay's wife. While Luke had maintained innocence, Jay had said he had been on pain medication for an old wound that had made him violent. Luke had apparently said it was a load of crap, and I was beginning to agree. The late Mrs. Harper supposedly was pretty rich. I didn't particularly care for this guy. Suddenly, I got an inspiration.   
"Jay … do you do much hunting around here?"  
"Quite a bit. Duck hunting, mostly."  
"You a hunter?"  
"Oh, yeah. You oughta come over one of these days and check out my stuffed ones."  
"How 'bout right now?" I asked.   
"How 'bout right now," he said, grinning.   
His house was a big place. The late Mrs. Harper was pretty rich.   
The guns were propped up against the wall, under the various mounted ducks.   
"Shotgun with buckshot in it? What do you keep that around for?" I asked, picking up one of the guns.  
"We get a little bit of deer hunting around here in the winter."  
I grinned, suddenly, and thought, Got him! I thought about the tape recording going in my pocket. There were no deer in this part of the country. None.  
"Say …" I said. "Isn't that what your wife was killed with?"  
He was caught completely off guard and he stared at me. He stammered,  
"Uh … uh … no! It was a … uh … .22, I uh --"  
"Seems you got one of those, too."   
"Yeah … uh, well, my uh buddy, see he killed her with one of my guns…"   
"I thought it was at his house."  
"Well, uh, yeah, he … uh… took them … it … from … here!" I smiled.   
"Nice meeting you, Jay," I said, and walked out, clicking off the tape recorder.   
  
I put together the packet of all the information I'd collected, points highlighted, and a cover letter, and sent it off to the supreme court. I didn't even think about returning the papers, nor did I remember that I had had other purposes for visiting town, such as sending a few notes to my editor about life in a chain gang. I just rode on back into camp. I was a little amazed that an innocent man had been sent to prison. It scared me. How many more innocents were in some chain gang, working their lives away? I suddenly had an inspiration for my article. I would no more simply give an account of my experiences: I would tell Luke's story.   
I walked into the building and threw a wave to a couple of the other inmates that I'd gotten to know. I'd broken every "boss to inmate relationship" rule that there was, but the bosses were so enamored of me that it didn't matter. I walked over to Luke's bunk and leaned on the rim.   
"Hello," he said, giving me one of his already-infamous smiles.   
"Hi," I said. "I've got news for you. I went on a daytrip today."  
"Yeah, where?"  
"Small town. 'Bout three miles south of here." His eyes widened. "I know you're innocent. I sent in a packet for the Supreme Court Board of Reviews to check out. You may get a return trial. And your buddy is a greasy fellow. I don't like him."  
"Neither do I," he said with another smile.   
  
The next few weeks passed without incident. It was brutally hot and the prisoners were fainting left and right in the heat. I wanted to say something about the load of work the men were being forced to do, but I was here to observe, not reform. It was horrible -- the physical labor was sickening. It made me furious. But it was quite obviously the norm, because everyone else took it in stride.   
Two days into the fifth week, I got a perfunctory letter from the Review Board, and the packet I had sent them, almost entirely unruffled, as if it had never been sorted through. Luke had watched me open it, and I saw him walk away and leaned on one of the bunks. But he turned around momentarily, his normal good humor returned.   
"Nobody wants to hear from anybody in prison," he said, with a grin. "Guess I'll just be serving my time."  
I frowned.   
"You shouldn't have to."  
"There's a lot of things I shouldn't have to do." He appeared completely undisturbed, and I was amazed. Luke had become somewhat of a legend in the gang -- the icon of pure coolness. He just refused to let the bosses mess with him. He instead messed with them, but everything he did was nothing they could pin down and punish. It was driving them nuts and it was making the rest of us laugh. The only boss he would obey completely was me. I was catching him looking at me sometimes. I'd look him in the eye on those occasions and he'd grin back, and say,   
"How can I not keep my eyes on the most beautiful woman in the compound?", to which I would respond,   
"Luke, I'm the only woman in the compound."  
But I was catching him looking more and more frequently.   
I sent back a letter to the Review Board, stating the evidence I'd collected a little more concisely. When they returned this letter as well, I decided not to just wave it at Luke. He'd want to read it, and that wouldn't be something I'd want to do out front in the middle of the compound. They were on an outdoor release one Saturday and I called him around back and handed him the letter. He read it, his face never changing, shrugged, and handed it back to me.   
"I'm sorry, Luke. I can try sending back to your original judge, but I don't think that will do much good."  
"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Hey, I'm much appreciative you tried."  
I knitted my brows.   
"I just -- it makes me so angry! Luke -- I'm … I'm not here as a boss, really." I broke off and he looked at me. It was irrational, but for some crazy reason I just trusted him.   
"I'm an undercover reporter for the New York Times and I'm doing an article on chain gangs." I finished in a rush. He laughed.   
"I wondered what you were doing here, because you hate the system."  
"Is it that obvious?"  
"It is to me."  
I chuckled and suddenly realized he was staring at me again.   
"What?" I asked.   
He extended a hand and brushed a finger across my cheek.   
"You're crying."  
I hadn't realized it until then, but it made me choke up.   
"I'm just so upset -- you shouldn't be here." I dropped my head.   
"Hey, hey -" he said, catching my chin in one hand and bringing it up.   
"It's okay - it's nothing to cry about," he said, soothingly. Then, to my very great surprise, he bent in and kissed me full on the lips. When we broke apart, I asked,   
"What was that?"  
"Not sure yet," he said. "I'll figure it out in a minute." Then he kissed me again. This time I found myself returning the kiss. We wrapped our arms around each other and stood there for a long moment, even after we had ended the second kiss.  
"They'll miss you," I said thickly. "We'd better go back."  
"Yeah…" he said, and stepped back slightly. He brushed a loose strand of hair out of my face and tucked it behind me ear. I wiped my tears and stepped away from him, with difficulty. We walked back around front.   
  
I was almost afraid to speak to Luke after that. I harbored a fear that someone knew that we'd gotten involved. Rationally, I knew that no one did, but I still worried. It could completely blow my cover. And that would ruin everything. In the meantime, summer was reaching its pinnacle. The heat was intense. It was on one of the hottest days of the summer when Luke ran again. I knew he was going as soon as he started. I was tempted to stop him, but realized he would only run again. There was no keeping him locked up. There was no beating him down. He needed to run again. I shivered, though. If he was caught, it wouldn't be pretty.   
They let the hounds out almost immediately. I listened to them sing. Hounds hot on a trail always gave me shivers, but today it was an unpleasant shiver, instead of the delicious ones I usually got.   
It was two weeks later when the magazine and the picture came, addressed to one of his buddies. On the back of the picture, it said, Love that Reporter - I chuckled. No one else saw his little note, but it made me happy. He was obviously happy, wherever he was. But the picture itself almost made me want to cry. He had two blondes hanging off his arms and that made me unhappy. Had he so quickly forgotten that afternoon, that had so touched me? I wished I knew where he was. I wanted answers. But I wouldn't have to wait long. 


End file.
